![]() ![]() The book title is technically accurate but overly generous - more realistically, it’s like CliffsNotes of the American West, consisting of several dozen of the most important vignettes. ![]() I moved quickly through its 480 pages (with an occasional photo), and thought it was one of my more enjoyable recent reads. My wife Amanda is the real reader in our house, and last month she came home from the library with Dreams of El Dorado: A history of the American West, by H. The novelty of the plains were lost on my father, who grew up on an Air Force base in South Dakota, but even he perked up when the snow-capped Rocky Mountains first jutted into the skyline, somewhere in eastern Colorado. ![]() The landscape felt familiar until somewhere in Kansas, in hindsight roughly coinciding with the 100th Meridian, and from that point on I kept my eyes glued outside. My fascination with the American West began in May 2002, when my father and I drove from North Carolina to Boulder, Colo., where I had a summer internship with GoLite. ![]()
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